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Without
my “Why,” I would probably gain my weight back. My
Why had better remain strong and at the forefront of my mind – yes, a healthy
obsession – otherwise, I will gain
the weight back. Indeed,
as I have said in previous chapters, there is no guarantee that I will keep the weight off, despite my Why – it
is no accident that I refer to myself as a fat woman walking. I
need a constant reminder of why I
have undertaken this difficult journey and why I continue on its path, even
though it remains tricky – in some ways more treacherous than those heady
weekly weight losses. Frankly,
it’s not all that exciting to see, every day, the same number register on the
scale, except to note that it represents a normal
weight. Even
in paradise, days normalize and become ordinary with the same-old, same-old
daily slog. I
remember well when my Why was born, a date that will remain forever etched in
memory: May
5, 2016 – The
day I picked up my new CPAP from the medical supply company. For
most people my age, …

(This
chapter isn’t quite where I want it, and I’m not sure if it will make the final
cut into my book, but I thought I’d toss it out there.) My
husband Jerry and I entered the gleaming, dripping in money medical center,
located in a tony neighborhood near Timonium, Maryland. Jerry
was dressed in a striped shirt and Khakis; I wore a sports tee-shirt and denim clamdigger
leggings – way underdressed for our expensive surroundings (I didn’t care – I
wore a pretty necklace, what more should they want?). We
had been there just once before – not quite familiar with the building layout –
so we must have looked slightly confused. I
had to use the facilities, but I knew that the restrooms had to be accessed via
a security code. “You
remember what the code is?” I asked Jerry. Before
he could answer, a lady ahead of us looked back and said, “Oh, it’s **** for
the ladies’ room and **** for the men’s.” Casually
and without hesitation. We
had never met her. Think
about that: we were strangers. We
thanked her…

I
have a complicated relationship with my late mother. I
spent most of my youth in my grandparents’ custody, for my time with Mother had
been sporadic and haphazard – life, in her house, often filled with drama,
domestic violence (on her part; she married nice men), and insecurity. Mother
was smart, beautiful, artistically talented, and sweet – when she was sober. When
she was drinking – which was most of the time – she was unstable, mean, and
slurry. It was like she was speaking another language, which, in a sense, she
was: the language of drink. The
language of drink is a mish-mosh of incoherence and mispronunciation with a
good dose of anger. Woe-be-onto-me
if I couldn’t understand what she was trying to tell me. She never hit me – she
saved that for her men – but she had a way of making me feel as if I were the
smallest and thickest person in the world. I
was terrified of her, this tiny, wobbly five-foot woman who could barely walk a
straight line; even as a child, I probably could have…

I
am not comfortable in my fat body. I
feel shame in my fatness. Anyone
who has been fat understands what it’s like to navigate the public arena; the
psychological aspects are much worse than the physical limitations of a fat
body, which can be considerable. In
a world designed primarily, and unapologetically, for the slender, watching out
for physical barriers is an on-going worry: tight spaces, small cars, elevators,
crowded public transportation (airplanes, especially), and skimpy chairs
designed to hold bodies up to 250 pounds – that is, if one is lucky. Once,
when I was on my Fulbright in Macedonia, where the population is still
relatively slender (although this is rapidly changing), and dining in a small
Italian restaurant, I stood up from a rickety plastic armchair to leave, and
the chair arose with me. Everyone knows that a chair is not supposed to be a
fashion accessory for the posterior, but there I was, sporting a white chair,
no less, and trying to wiggle out of it, while ever…

I
will never criticize a child for being overweight. No
child ever chooses to carry extra weight – for reasons that are not yet
completely understood, some people are genetically predisposed to carry extra pounds,
and others have a flaw in their appestat which can throw appetite control out
of kilter. To
blame a child for something that she or he has little control over is cruel and
inhuman, and yet overweight children are harassed by other children and even by
adults who may believe that they have the child’s best interests at heart. If
any blame can be assigned, let’s point the finger at the fast food industry
that markets unhealthy food to children and, perhaps, the parents who give in
to the incessant marketing. A
child does not yet have the psychological tools to fend off the blizzard of ads
propagated by the fast food industry. Hell,
most adults are easily manipulated by cagey advertisements – just look at those
clever beer commercials convincing consumers to drink famous, albeit pis…

“I’m
backkkk…” Fewer
than two months after posting The “Why” and Conversations with My CPAP …Back on the CPAP. All
it took was the Thanksgiving weekend and pretty much unchecked eating for about
a week. Seven
pounds later and much self-reflection, I have concluded that I was beginning to
slip back into the old ways of binge eating, chronic sleepiness, depression,
insomnia, and belly bloat. Despite
my happy diagnosis of no more Sleep Apnea, I may have shucked the CPAP too soon
– a bitter pill to swallow. But
it’s better to face this now, and not
wait until I have packed on 50 or more pounds, especially when I have the tools
to stop it. Looking
back, I now realize that the above symptoms were beginning to return shortly
after I put away the CPAP, especially the chronic hunger. I
just chalked it up to being in Iowa and Washington, D.C., away from my
comfortable environment. When
I returned home, the symptoms continued, but I rationalized that it was the
changing season stoking up my hunger, even …

The
fact that logic cannot satisfy us awakens an almost insatiable hunger for the
irrational. ~A. N. Wilson Meet
my appetite: The
voracious monster and – The
Empty Yawning Chasm. If
left unchecked, The Chasm will create
havoc. Much
of my life has been spent staving it off, and woe-be-onto-me should I ignore its
first signs. The
Chasm retains a tight leash on me, reminding me of the numerous impulses within
to grab the first thing at hand, usually a fatty crunchy carb or fast food,
typically fried in grease. (An
aside: Last week, while on my walk, I slipped, almost landing on my ass, on a smelly
grease stain deposited by Chick-fil-A in the alleyway behind its property –
think about that as you take your next bite of its classic chicken sandwich.
How that stuff must grease up one’s colon like a colonoscopy prep – we oldsters
think a lot about such connections.) I
have been told that humans living in First World Countries have never
experienced gut-wrenching hunger. Wrong. It
may not be the kind of…

(I
wrote this on June 8, 2011, mostly as a reminder to be kinder to myself – fat
or thin.“This
Time Would be Different,” I told myself: I would keep the weight off.Unfortunately,
I regained most of it.A
reminder to take nothing for granted.A
reminder to celebrate life, no matter what, because the tomorrow we are given
may not be the tomorrow we expected – or wanted.In
fact, tomorrow is not guaranteed.) Dear Friends, Be kind to your former
self. Love her, love him. Don’t be so hard on that
person who decided to take matters seriously and lose weight and gain a
healthier body. Remember, it was that brave person who made an important decision
to spend a significant amount of money and admit publicly that he or she
needed help. Do you remember that day
so many months ago, how tentative you felt about going to Weight Watchers (or whatever
program you selected) and how it all seemed so difficult and impossible? Do you remember hiding
in the back of the room, trying not to be noticed? Well, you ca…